The middle years

Dear Void

I have some laughable rubbish for your scorn and derision. 

I’ve never been keen on landscapes or portraits.  While I’ve done a few, landscapes don’t jiggle my nuts and portraits are far too perilous: Am I a bad painter or are you just fucking ugly?

See the problem? 

I’ve done a number of self portraits but that was with the general understanding that I’m both a bad painter and an ugly cunt.  So no-one was offended.

That’s how I fetched up in The Middle Years.

How doth the flower appear to thee?

Or does it go this way up?

[Alright.  Fair cop, governor.  I fucked up the download and the image isn’t available.  But it’s not a great loss because it was just a ninety degree twist of the other one.  So, either use your imagination or turn your iPad real quick before the OS adjusts the image or, and this is just a suggestion, fuck the fuck off].

The point is that there was no point.  A simple exercise in arse-hattery.
Moving on to the only remaining pitcher (as my wife pronounces it) from The Billy series. 

I did a bunch of them but most are gone.  This abortion, inexplicably, remains.  Nota bene, for all the shit that made it into these pages, quite a lot was shoved back into the machine for recycling.  Think on that for a moment, won’t you?  This is the shit that made the cut. Hmm. 

Here’s Billy:

 

 

Frankenspouse hates it.  And with good reason.  It’s unnerving.  I don’t know if Billy is me or my brother or my father. Or, Heaven forbid, my son.
At any rate, it’s poorly executed.  And that’s being kind.
Still, I imagine you've concluded that already because you know that

Soc is a fraud

 

Downinahole